Leo burst through the door of his apartment, slamming it shut behind him. His hands were trembling as he locked the deadbolt, his heart still pounding violently in his chest. He pressed his back against the door, sliding down until he sat on the floor, knees pulled tightly to his chest.
The familiar, comforting scent of his apartment surrounded him—the faint smell of fresh coffee from that morning, the laundry detergent he always used, the cool, clean air. But none of it brought him peace. His mind was still racing, replaying the moment when the figure had grabbed him, when their lips had collided in that forceful kiss.
"Why now?" Leo whispered to himself, running a hand through his tousled hair. He hadn't seen *him* in years, hadn't even heard a whisper. And now, after all this time, he just showed up—out of nowhere, as if nothing had ever changed.
But everything *had* changed. Leo wasn't that scared boy anymore. He wasn't helpless.
He forced himself to stand, his legs still weak and unsteady. His apartment felt too quiet, too empty now, and the faint creaks from the old pipes in the walls only made the silence more oppressive. He moved toward the window, his fingers shaking as he drew the curtains closed, casting the room into a soft, dim shadow.
As he stood there, the city outside buzzing with life, Leo felt the cold wave of dread settle back over him. It was suffocating. His hands braced against the window frame, gripping it so hard his knuckles turned white.
A knock at the door startled him.
Leo's breath caught in his throat. His eyes shot toward the door, heart hammering against his ribs again. The knock came once more, sharp and deliberate.
He stood frozen, torn between the urge to run and the fear that running would make it worse. Slowly, cautiously, he moved toward the door, peeking through the peephole. Relief flooded him when he saw the familiar face of his neighbor, Clara, standing outside, holding a package.
Leo let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and unlocked the door. When he opened it, Clara smiled at him, her kind eyes crinkling at the edges.
"Hey, Leo," she said, handing him the small package. "This was in my mailbox by mistake. I figured it was yours."
Leo forced a smile, trying to steady his voice. "Thanks, Clara. Appreciate it."
She tilted her head, her expression softening as she studied him. "You okay? You look a little pale."
"I'm fine," Leo lied, his voice tight. "Just… had a rough day."
Clara nodded, clearly unconvinced but not wanting to pry. "Well, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me."
"Thanks," Leo repeated, his voice barely above a whisper as he took the package from her hands.
She gave him a gentle smile before turning and walking back down the hallway to her apartment.
As soon as the door closed again, Leo exhaled heavily, his legs feeling like they might give out. He tossed the package onto the small kitchen counter, not caring what it was. His body ached with exhaustion, but his mind was still buzzing, still trapped in that alley, reliving every moment.
He walked into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, trying to calm himself down. Staring into the mirror, his reflection stared back at him, pale and haunted. His dark hair was still damp with sweat, and his eyes looked hollow, like he hadn't slept in days.
But what truly unsettled him was the faint bruise forming on his wrist—the spot where *he* had grabbed him.
Leo's stomach twisted, and he leaned heavily against the sink, gripping the edges as though it were the only thing keeping him grounded. The memories flooded back, crashing over him like a tidal wave. The way *he* used to follow him, always lurking in the shadows, always *watching*.
Leo's hands trembled as he gripped the sink tighter, flashes of the past cutting through his mind like a razor-sharp blade.
---
Four years ago.
Leo stood on the edge of the old bridge, the wind whipping through his hair, his heart racing. He could feel the cold metal of the railing beneath his fingers, the rushing water below calling to him. The night was dark, the sky overcast with heavy clouds, and the city lights in the distance seemed so far away.
But he wasn't alone.
"You're not going to jump, are you?" The voice had been soft, mocking, laced with amusement.
Leo had turned his head sharply, his breath catching in his throat. There he was. The same dark figure, standing just behind him, hands in his pockets, a smug smile on his lips.
"Leave me alone," Leo had whispered, his voice trembling.
But the figure had stepped closer, his presence suffocating. "You keep trying to run, but you always end up right here. With me."
Leo had closed his eyes, trying to block out the voice, the feeling of his nearness. "I don't want this. I never wanted any of this."
The figure's laughter had been soft, almost tender. "It doesn't matter what you want."
And then, like always, the figure had disappeared into the night, leaving Leo standing alone on that bridge, the weight of his words sinking deeper into his chest.
---
Leo snapped back to the present, gasping for air. His hands had gone white from how hard he was gripping the sink, his knuckles aching. He stumbled back, feeling lightheaded, his mind spiraling out of control.
*He's back. He's back.*
The thought echoed through Leo's mind, over and over, louder each time.
The worst part? He didn't even know what *he* wanted this time. But he knew one thing for sure: the figure wouldn't stop until he got what he came for.
Leo collapsed onto his bed, curling into himself, clutching his arms to his chest as if that could shield him from the cold terror that had taken root deep within him.
As he lay there, trembling, eyes wide open in the dim light of his apartment, he heard a faint whisper, as if it had been carried on the wind, slipping through the cracks of the window.
"I'm coming for you, Leo."
Leo's blood ran cold. His breath hitched, but he didn't move. He didn't dare.
In the silence of the night, the shadows seemed to grow darker, stretching toward him. And somewhere, out there in the city, *he* was waiting.